Well then, the newspaper stand and “collections” are well-known to the autochthonous press reader. You go to the newspaper stand on Friday morning to buy newspaper “L”, and a large and colorful cardboard poster catches your eye, advertising a low price and a promise in bold letters: talismans, coins, films, bugs in resin, opera music disks, watches, maquettes and soon, why not, plastic lighters, quills, fox plumes (ha, ha, ha), pocket whistles, etc.

It’s all about being relatively small, relatively pretty, relatively shiny, relatively informed, relatively cheap, and when all is said and done, RELATIVELY. In other words, not collectible. And in any case, meant to provoke subliminally our melancholy.

I define the collectible object here according to my "personal" dictionary: the object that, belonging to a series of objects that are similar or have a common denominator, constitutes together with these a series of objects valuable in and of themselves and also as a collection, a value augmentable with the passage of time. Excuse me, it’s a collector’s way of talking. I don’t want you to misunderstand me. All these “collections” at anyone’s disposal can be bought; however, they will never possess a transactional value. And we can buy them for the pleasure of spending our money in this manner. It is one of the classical applications of marketing campaigns aimed at the feelings of the target population – the buyer with a small to medium income, aged between 30 and 50, of both sexes. Who might this population be? The Romanian who in his childhood ran around unsupervised with the house key around his neck, had a herbarium, an insectarium, and stamps, who played Țomapan (a geography game) or Battleship during class, and (excuse me) spit-hide-and-seek during recess. Target acquired. Target hit. Until next time, T.C. & E.